Post by Sasha Zaytsev on Sept 24, 2014 9:01:32 GMT -8
Sasha looked down and the broken bloody form of Uri at her feet. His breathing was slow and steady, but deep, as though each breath might be his last. His ribs were bruised from where the cane had struck him. His eye socket was already turning a grotesque purple. It would take him months to recover, even with her blood speeding the process. Finally willing herself to breath again, Sasha turned and walked to the table where her decanter sat. She meticulously poured herself a glass of the thick red fluid and swallowed it all in one gulp.
D’Orleans was still Prince. Keket had failed. She had backed down when confronted, and thrown the lot of her conspirators under the bus. The gypsy vermin were still in the city somewhere, hidden by Malory. The only Kindred who had shown any back bone was Mr. Euler.
Sasha leaned against the table, pouring herself another drink and remembered the flames. The two gypsies struggling on the floor with each other, the flames of their own creation lapping at their cloths. All around her the Kindred of Seattle had fled. First Malory, then those surrounding the fighting pair, then the new apprentice, until there was only Euler, his escort, and Sasha. The gypsy bitch had committed Amarath on the floor of the Seattle Art Museum, in plain sight. Sasha fondly recalled calling on her blood to lift the frenzied monster into the air and Euler drove the stake home. In that moment the flames had gone out and the other Kindred of the city began poking their heads back into the room. Sasha firmly believed that that moment of heroism is the only thing that had stayed the Princes’ sword later in the evening.
The blood turned sour in her stomach at the cowardice of others that night. To plot and scheme and gather support, only to cast your allies aside at the first confrontation.
Uri flinched at the sound of glass breaking, and Sasha scowled at the bloody mess she had made.
“Well make yourself useful, babushka. Come here,” she waved her bloody hand at Uri and he eagerly crawled on the floor to her feet to lap up the blood. His eyes lit when she let him lick the wound on her own hand where the glass had cut her.
Strength and obedience. That’s what is needed. Feeling Uri’s eager mouth on her hand, she thought of Mr. Euler and the fire.
D’Orleans was still Prince. Keket had failed. She had backed down when confronted, and thrown the lot of her conspirators under the bus. The gypsy vermin were still in the city somewhere, hidden by Malory. The only Kindred who had shown any back bone was Mr. Euler.
Sasha leaned against the table, pouring herself another drink and remembered the flames. The two gypsies struggling on the floor with each other, the flames of their own creation lapping at their cloths. All around her the Kindred of Seattle had fled. First Malory, then those surrounding the fighting pair, then the new apprentice, until there was only Euler, his escort, and Sasha. The gypsy bitch had committed Amarath on the floor of the Seattle Art Museum, in plain sight. Sasha fondly recalled calling on her blood to lift the frenzied monster into the air and Euler drove the stake home. In that moment the flames had gone out and the other Kindred of the city began poking their heads back into the room. Sasha firmly believed that that moment of heroism is the only thing that had stayed the Princes’ sword later in the evening.
The blood turned sour in her stomach at the cowardice of others that night. To plot and scheme and gather support, only to cast your allies aside at the first confrontation.
Uri flinched at the sound of glass breaking, and Sasha scowled at the bloody mess she had made.
“Well make yourself useful, babushka. Come here,” she waved her bloody hand at Uri and he eagerly crawled on the floor to her feet to lap up the blood. His eyes lit when she let him lick the wound on her own hand where the glass had cut her.
Strength and obedience. That’s what is needed. Feeling Uri’s eager mouth on her hand, she thought of Mr. Euler and the fire.